


Amnesia

by Port



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Poetry, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 04:02:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2908631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Port/pseuds/Port
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lisa breathes and admits a visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amnesia

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from the lovely Smilla, with thanks to Fannishliss for the beta. She is the reason the second draft is so different from the first, and in my opinion, much better. Thanks, Liss! Lastly, comments rock, even critical ones. Lastly-lastly--enjoy!

Inhale: he visits.  
Count to five and he fills her  
stomach. Five-count and her lungs are flush  
with his presence inside her.  
Another two seconds raise her  
collarbone toward his tall memory.

She knew a man once, she’s sure.  
He wasn’t the father of her son—  
her son who sighs, discontent,  
on the sidewalk, in the car, at the dinner table.  
He was a good man, tall and corporeal—she knows it.

Exhale, measured, steady:  
lose him on a fifteen-count.  
He exits her body, withdraws  
into air damp with her sweat.  
From the top of her lungs to her  
diaphragm, he has gone.

She knew him—or else this passion  
is for nothing, for no one. It’s no brittle thing.  
It is pink and flushed, tangible.  
She could hold it in her hands.  
Day by day it grows.  
It laughs and runs.

Shallow meditation breaths. He is inside her again,  
warm at her pelvis, radiating passion.  
This is what she has now.

She’s not a woman to imagine ideals.  
She knew a man. He was warm and  
held her in bed. Or did she hold him?

Inhale: he visits to say yes, yes she held him.  
She held him in her house,  
in her arms, in her steady breath.  
She dried his tears with her pillowcase.

Inhale: he visits, and grief, his friend,  
embraces her with cold, skeletal arms  
about her ribs. She releases everything  
in a whuff of air. She lets him go.  
Exhale four, three, two.  
Her lungs are compressed,  
her stomach pressed backward.  
Hold. Hold.

She knew him because she’s  
not a woman to grieve on a whim.  
Her despondency is fertile and blue.  
It flows and draws away,  
approaches and leaves behind buttons and shells.

Last night, her son woke up in tears  
and could not say why.  
Neither can she, but someday she will.  
Air is a wonder, a gift, a revival.  
He visits on the inhale.  
One day, he’ll stay when she lets go.  



End file.
